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Ghislaine sighed as she settled down between the roots of a tree, tail flicking back and forth idly as she allowed her eyes to slit almost lazily, at least for her. She was taking some time for herself, as she had been more apt to do lately. While she certainly was not to other people's levels of "fun" it seems she had unwound just the slightest bit now. Perhaps she had grown up a little.

Whatever the reason, Ghislaine looked out across the lands of her pride. She was farther away from its center right now, having wanted peace from the other members and, for once, her beloved Hounfors. She wasn't even meditating on the Loa or contemplating anything else. She was simply...being, enjoying the quiet and the surrounding sense of nothingness. She was, one might say, enjoying herself. Not that she wouldn't have minded some other person share solitude with. As long as they were quiet, at least. Not like that would, happen, with her luck and how often she seemed to find herself with someone like Fon Youn. Ah well, best to appreciate the simple things in this moment. Like the fact that said lion wasn't currently around.

Posted: Mon Mar 12, 2012 10:54 am

There was a reason he loved this particular area of the pride's territory. It sat just on the border but still lingered within the protected territory. Few dared to travel out this far, save for the Pespete such as himself. The veil of their swamp faded into dappled sunlight and eventually tapered off into an open grassland where much of the Pespete would venture out into in order to collect the items required of them. It was grim work, to be sure, and many believed that the Pespete carried with them resentful spirits for disturbing the dead but Lazarus found some solstice in his work. It was quiet, it was far from prying eyes, but it was close to the sunlight.

The young lion walked in a slow, dragging lope. His boney shoulders rose out from his mane like twin mountains rolling through the grassy savannah. His long legs were gangly and awkward, nearly dwarfing his body in a way only a cheetah's could. His gaunt frame boasted ribs against a dull coat. Many thought Lazarus to be a sickly lion rather than just a naturally lithe creature but he never commented one way or the other. He never commented at all.

Today, it seemed, was an oddity. There in his quiet corner of the pride lands sat a female. One of the pride females, but a stranger to him regardless.